


Work Study

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU college fic, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Happy Ending, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Steve, Jock Bucky Barnes, M/M, Natasha Romanoff is a Good Bro, Party Animal Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Skinny!Steve, Steve has too many jobs, Stucky slash, The Author Is An Awful Person, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tumblr otpprompt, accidental nudity, bad music, lots of smut toward the end, then not-so-accidental nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: A and B both go to the same university, but never talk to each other. A got there on a scholarship of your choice. B has to work multiple jobs to keep up with tuition. One day A goes to talk to the professor about something and finds B cleaning the class alone. What happens next? </p>
<p>Steve and Bucky need to stop meeting this way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Study

**Author's Note:**

> This is a flagrant, flaming ball of cheese. I stayed up all night last night writing this after watching Age of Ultron at the matinee. So many things I wish that movie had done differently. The Bruce/Tasha ship almost sailed for me, but it never stayed afloat. Every time Steve said something particularly cute, I kept thinking, "Boy, I sure wish Bucky was in this."
> 
> Anyway, have at it. This isn't my best, but it IS a oneshot, instead of a ponderously long multi-chaptered fic that doesn't get updated or finished for three or more years. HOORAY! *hides, ducks tomatoes*

Sam's alarm jerked Bucky out of a drooling-into-the-pillow, dead-to-the-world sleep, eliciting a loud moan of complaint. Sam's smartphone blared Rick Ross’ “Sanctified" from its speaker deck across the room on the bookcase. Bucky swore and picked up one of his Asics running shoes and hurled it, knocking it from its perch. The phone landed face-down on the homely brown track carpeting, and it sounded more muffled, at least; Bucky's limbs still felt leaden, certainly not ready to climb - scratch that, _roll_ \- out of his narrow dorm cot. He left it there and rolled over to doze back off for a few minutes, throwing his arm over his head. His mouth tasted like paste and pillowcase lint. 

His reprieve only lasted ten minutes. Sam jiggled his key loudly in the lock and the door hinge squealed slightly as he came in from his shower. "Dude!" he exclaimed in annoyance. "I just replaced this last month when I broke the screen!" He returned the phone to the iHome speaker dock and soundly pelted Bucky with a pillow. "Rise and shine, Petunia." 

"Too loud," Bucky mumbled. 

"Should've laid off the hard stuff," Sam told him, shaking his head. "Pitiful." 

"They were playing quarters, Sam. That means shots," he informed him, like he was in preschool. 

"Should have been at the beer pong table with me," Sam told him with an I-told-you-so smile. 

"I hate you," Bucky muttered. 

"Shouldn't you be getting up?" 

Bucky made an unintelligible noise. 

 

"I remember someone rambling on about mid-terms yesterday, while you were still coherent. Like, that one you haven't studied anywhere near long enough for?" 

Bucky 's eyes snapped wide open. "Shit." 

"What time are you supposed to take it?" 

"Five minutes ago..." Sam might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. Bucky whipped off the covers and was up in a flash, moving on a surge of adrenaline and ignoring the dawning throb of a hangover. 

"And he's off!" Sam crowed. Bucky darted around the room, snatching up his shower caddy, questionable-smelling bath towel and toothbrush; he grabbed his jean's from the night before to search for his keys. Sam took pity on him and retrieved them from Bucky's desk, where he'd also dumped his phone, ATM card and ID. He dangled them from his finger and thumb, and Bucky gratefully tossed them into his shower caddy. He jerked open the door and sprinted out of the dorm room, Sam's brief huff of laughter following him down the hall. 

Bucky cursed at the damp, cold tile, mad that he forgot his shower shoes, cringing at the thought of the microbes no doubt swarming over his feet. He thunked the shower caddy down and slung his towel over a peg and promptly stripped. Bucky made it behind the curtain just before he heard the door swing open. 

"Housekeeping!" he heard a deep male voice announce. 

"Occupied," Bucky called out impatiently. He twisted the shower dial and yelped at the icy blast of water; if he wasn't awake before, he sure as hell was now. 

"Hello?" the voice called out again. 

"OCCUPIED! I'm in here," Bucky repeated impatiently. He squirted a too-big glob of Old Spice body wash onto his chest and slicked it down his body, annoyed at his one-handed reach when he was in a hurry. Bucky tipped his face into the gradually warming spray, letting it course through his long hair, working out a crick in his neck. He'd passed out on the couch in the frat house's gameroom for who knew how long; Bucky's next plan of action was to check his friends' tweets for pictures to make sure he hadn't been used as a prop or a sight gag in any of them. His eyebrows had only recently grown back... 

He rinsed hastily and reached out around the edge of the curtain, fumbling for his towel. He could hear the muted sounds of music from someone's earbuds - he guessed - with the iPod or phone's speakers turned up entirely too loud. Bucky heard the slide of shower curtain rings clinking along the pole two stalls down as he toweled himself off roughly. His headache hadn't ebbed; Sam would have Motrin if he asked. Sam was a walking pharmacy. 

Bucky was still rubbing his dripping hair, more of a chore after letting it grow so long. He heard the drag of a wheeled mop bucked against the floor tiles and the slop of the mop in long, smooth strokes, mingling with the cacophony of the guy's music... System of a Down, no less. Guy's eardrums had to be ringing. 

In the glaring light of the bathroom, Bucky saw the silhouette of a long-fingered hand through the curtain. His pulse racheted up as he realized he was going to pull back the curtain. "No... _wait!_ " 

_Hisssss_ went the shower curtain rings. Bucky was hit with a blast of cold air against his bare, damp skin, and the shocked, mortified face of a guy who only came up to Bucky's chin, blue eyes wide behind a pair of black-framed glasses. 

Bifocals. His brain short-circuited from shock and his words failed him. 

All he managed was "Shit!" 

"Geez... shitshitshit…” He released the curtain as if it burned him, but not before his eyes flitted over him instinctively, and Bucky had no delusions that he missed anything, even in that brief a glance. Bucky jerked the curtain shut and heard the guy backing off, mop bucket and all. 

"Dude... I'm _so_ sorry. Oh, my God... oh, my God... I am _so_ sorry." For one stupid moment, Bucky wondered how that deep, resonant voice belonged to such a tiny guy. He sounded contrite, at least. He was still fuming. 

"I said 'Occupied?'" Bucky reminded him savagely, feeling himself blush all over. 

"Huh?" Bucky bent down and hastily grabbed his boxers, scrabbling for them under the hem of the curtain.

“I said it was occupied, which you might have heard if you weren't blasting that shit,” Bucky snapped as he jerked on his shorts. “System of a Down? Really?”

The music stopped abruptly. Bucky opened the curtain, and he stared at his shower stall interloper. Guy looked put out, and he was blushing furiously. If Bucky weren't pissed, it would be cute.

“Sorry.” He pointed to his left ear, and belatedly, Bucky noticed the small white hearing aid. “I changed the battery in it and forgot to turn it back on. And I got into my music, and I never heard you.” 

“No. You ended up with an eyeful, instead. Jesus…” Bucky scrambled into his shirt, which was sticking to his damp skin. Steve was dutifully looking away – belatedly, _guiltily_ \- but Bucky couldn't resist a parting shot. “Gotta come up with a better excuse if you’re checkin’ me out, pal.” It was the hangover talking.

Short, Blond and Raspberry wasn't impressed.

“Get over yourself!” He reached for Bucky’s shower caddy and huffed, holding it out to him. “Pick up your crap so I can do my job, jerk!” Bucky snatched it from him, his damp towel wadded up under his stump. “Get to class!”

“Get to work, peeping Tom! Asshole!”

Bucky rushed out of the bathroom, hearing the music cranking back on from his smartphone, without earbuds this time. The mop bucket clattered over the tile, followed by angry mopping.

_Great._

Bucky begged a handful of Motrin from Sam and booked it across campus, making it to the three-story hall in ten minutes. His hair was still damp and clammy against his neck, bound in its customary ponytail, and he had his dark sunglasses on for good measure, knowing full well that his eyes looked like pissholes in the snow. His thin hoodie was almost too much for the early fall day, but he didn't want his prosthetic on display. Bucky stopped at a vending machine in the lobby of the building, stuffing half a granola bar into his mouth before sprinting up the two flights of stairs to his class.

__"Shit," he muttered bitterly, when he peered in through the window of the door and saw a sea of heads bent over test sheets. His face felt hot and tingly with embarrassment as he gently opened the door. Belatedly he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket. His professor raised one snowy white brow at him over the edge of her textbook._ _

__"The exam started twenty minutes ago," Dr. Munroe told him on a terse whisper. Her blue eyes bore into his with zero sympathy. "I don't expect you to complete this."_ _

__"No... no, I totally can," he hedged. "Please, just-"_ _

__"I don't tolerate tardiness in my class, Mr. Barnes," she informed him. She leaned over her remaining copies of the test sheets, arms folded against her desk._ _

__"I can complete it," Bucky argued on a desperate whisper. "Please, just... please?" She sighed._ _

__"Here." She slid his test sheet across the desk with one slim, manicured hand. "But see me after class. I need to discuss your grade with you." He nodded solemnly._ _

__"Thank you." He ducked his head meekly and rushed to the last empty seat in the front row, not wanting to take his usual one toward the rear and disrupt anyone on the way there. He still caught Tim's eye briefly, and the jerk had the nerve to smirk at him. Bucky sank into his seat and dug in his pack for a pen, but Peggy signaled to him quietly, catching the corner of his eye. She brandished a black Bic, and he took it gratefully. She winked at him and went back to her essay questions._ _

__He sweated through his exam, hand cramping from his rushed scribbling. The true-false questions were easy enough; he could vouch for six, possibly seven of the ten, and the multiple choice questions were a little fiddly, but they wouldn't kill him._ _

__The essay questions... geez. The words swam on the page; his brain short-circuited when he saw that each one was worth thirty points. Bucky tried to visualize his handwritten notes, but he was drawing a blank. Freshman lit was killing him. He scribbled a noncommittal opening sentence that simply echoed the question, but the facts eluded him, buried under a hangover and the buzzing in his ears._ _

Bucky was _screwed_.

__He soldiered on. His eyes drifted to the clock, and he noticed he had five minutes left. Hearing his classmates gradually shuffling their papers and bringing them up to the desk was making his adrenaline spike and his flesh break out in flop sweat._ _

__He was the second to last person to finish. Dr. Munroe gave him a skeptical look and nodded._ _

__"I finish with classes at four."_ _

__"You can text me," Bucky offered. His eyes flitted down to his paper, still clutched in his sweaty grip. He relinquished it as though she'd asked him for his front teeth._ _

__"Write your cell number on the back." He scribbled it down quickly._ _

__"Thank you, Professor."_ _

__"Don't thank me yet." Her smile was crisp. It terrified him._ _

__*  
His stomach roiled with tension and jitters through his art history class, but thankfully it was his easiest. Bucky grabbed a venti mocha from the student union's Starbucks and sucked on it greedily, wishing caffeine could replace sleep. _ _

__By the time he reached his physics class, his head was swimming. Dr. Summers droned on about mass and rates of acceleration, and he scribbled down notes that he wouldn't be able to decipher when he was ready to actually study. At least he enjoyed physics and could get caught up, and Dr. Summers cut him a little more slack. It helped that his class was later in the day. Bucky didn't do mornings._ _

__Bucky headed to the dining hall and had the guest clerk scan his meal card. Nausea finally gave way to hunger, and the line to the buffet counters was already a mile long. Bucky loaded up a bowl at the salad bar and went the quick route with chicken strips, even though they looked a little overdone. He topped it off with a huge Coke and wandered into the upper level of the dining room. He found Tim and Peggy hanging out at one of the round tables with Gabe and Jim. Most of them were finished with their plates, but they grinned at him and shoved out a chair for him._ _

__"Rough night?" Peggy's smile was warm but not sympathetic._ _

__"You look like hell," Gabe assured him. "Quarters?"_ _

__"Quarters."_ _

__"Your shirt's inside-out," Tim added. "Nice look." Bucky peered belatedly down at his outfit and groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face._ _

__"I can't win. I can't win..."_ _

__"How did you do on the mid-term?" Peggy asked._ _

__"Awful. Dr. Munroe hates me. I'm never gonna pass that class."_ _

__"Want a copy of my notes?"_ _

__"I love you!" Bucky blew her smoochy kisses across the table. Peggy batted her eyelashes and pretended to preen._ _

__"Kiss-up."_ _

__"Going to the party tonight?" Gabe asked him._ _

__"Nope." Bucky was staring down the barrel of extra credit work, track practice, and several hours in the library. "Sam's gonna put me on a leash."_ _

__"Remind him to bring a bag," Tim joked. Bucky threw a piece of chicken strip at him._ _

__*_ _

__After track practice, around three-thirty, Bucky received the text that he'd been dreading all day._ _

_I will be meeting with the dean in the conference room across the hall from my class, Bucky. Come at four, as we discussed, so we can discuss your progress._

Bucky tipped his head back and closed his eyes, cradling the back of his headed in his folded hands. _Back to the dragon's lair._

__Sam watched him grab his keys from his desk, where he was typing up a paper on his laptop. "Where you headed?"_ _

__"Dr. Munroe's. Quick meeting. Send out the rescue dogs if I'm not back in a half an hour."_ _

"Smile a lot and do a lot of begging. I pulled a high C in her class last semester, and that was the _high_ end of the class average. Killed my GPA." And Sam hadn't let Bucky hear the end of it. Dr. Frost's freshman lit class had been full, but Bucky needed to get that class out of the way; he added it to his online registration form reluctantly, and he'd regretted it ever since.

__He began the walk back to the hall, shivering slightly as the temperature began to drop. Bucky ran through a bunch of feasible excuses in his head that he could offer to his professor about why he was doing piss-poorly in her class, but all of them sounded lame and desperate. He climbed the stairs after visiting the vending machine again and getting a Power Ade this time._ _

__Bucky peered into the conference room window and saw Dr. Munroe chatting with Dr. Frost, watching how easily the two chatted, a contrast from the face that Dr. Munroe presented during her lectures, stern and no-nonsense. He despaired of ever getting on her good side, but he needed to step up his game._ _

__Bucky let himself into her classroom and plunked himself into a seat in the front row, taking his phone out of his pocket to entertain himself. The familiar strains of System of a Down reached his ears as he processed that he wasn't alone._ _

__"Hey. I'm gonna be finished up in here in a few minutes, buddy. Wanna step out while I mop?" Bucky's eyes widened as he twisted around in his seat._ _

__"Geez..."_ _

__"Wow. Hey. Um..." Awkwardness hung between them like damp laundry._ _

Short, Blonde and Raspberry (again) was staring down at him from the back of the room, where he'd begun to damp mop the floor. Bucky had the chance to get a better look at him, but he felt his own cheeks coloring as he remembered, _This guy saw me naked this morning!_ His left arm was dangling over the chair, and the guy's blue eyes – a robin’s egg blue, with ridiculously long lashes - flitted to it briefly, full of unspoken questions. They just as quickly darted away when he realized it might be rude.

__The shower. He hadn't been wearing his prosthetic. Bucky swallowed roughly and steeled himself._ _

__"I'm just waiting for Dr. Munroe. She's meeting with me in here."_ _

__"She told me to tell - Bucky? - that across the hall was better." He rubbed his nape uncomfortably with his free hand; he was clutching his mop handle pretty tightly. He put dubious emphasis on his name. "That's you, right?"_ _

__"Yeah. Pretty much."_ _

__Steve's palms began to sweat._ _

__Tall, Handsome and Pissed Off was staring at him ominously, blushing as hard as he was, and Steve bit back the urge to tell him "You look different with your clothes on." He felt a little disappointed at that change. The memory of how he looked, dripping, bare, skin still glowing from the heat of the shower with that long, dark hair plastered to his shoulders and neck was burned into his consciousness. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with a few rebellious wisps hanging down around his square-jawed face. He chewed his lip in exasperation as he got back up from his desk._ _

__"All right. I'll leave you to it. Sorry if I'm in your way."_ _

__"Oh. You're not. Not really. Um, I'm... sorry about... today, with... y'know." He made a vague waving motion, then gestured to his mop. "Nice, uh, running into you again. Sorry." Bucky huffed, scraping his hair back from his forehead._ _

__"Couldn't be helped," he admitted. "Wasn't having the best start to my day, anyway. What was one more thing?" He headed out the door. "Bye, uh..." He pointed at him, urging an introduction._ _

__"Steve. I have most of my classes in this building. Have a good meeting."_ _

__"Later, bro." Bucky hurried out, some part of him relieved to have resolved the incident from that morning, and it took the edge off the roiling dread in his chest at meeting with his toughest professor. His right hand was sweaty as he twisted the knob to the conference room. Both women looked up as he came inside, and Dr. Frost touched Dr. Munroe's shoulder briefly._ _

__"I'll call you later," she promised._ _

__"Sounds good, Emma." She beckoned to Bucky as Dr. Frost slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and headed out. "Bucky, make yourself at home." Her voice didn't have its usual sharp edge. It helped._ _

__"Hey. Got your text. The janitor said come over here instead."_ _

__"He's not really the janitor." Ororo's lips twisted. "Housekeeper, technically. He's just a student like you. He's in the art school."_ _

__"Never saw him before today."_ _

__"He makes himself scarce. Works pretty hard. Anyway, back to you." His stomach dropped. She reached into her folio and pulled out her gradebook and his exam. "So, I went through your gradebook. I hope you're checking your portal page somewhat regularly, Bucky. Might help you to keep track of your performance and check out some weak areas."_ _

__"How weak are we talking?"_ _

__"I see a missed quiz. I was hoping you would see me about making that up."_ _

__"I didn't think I could."_ _

__"Then consider it an early Christmas gift," she jibed. "I'm going to let you take that today."_ _

__"Thanks... I think?" The corner of her full mouth quirked._ _

__"Lucky you. Your other chapter tests weren't fantastic. You tend to zone out a little."_ _

__"I just... I'm not a reader. Or a writer," he explained. "I can figure out equations. Problems. I can learn facts. I'm just not into literature. And it hates me."_ _

__That made her chuckle and nod, making her long white cornrows rattle. "We don't all like the same things. But this is part of your general ed requirement. If you fail it, I'm fine with you taking my class again next semester-"_ _

__"No! Uh... anyway, that's okay." Her shoulders shook briefly and she raised her brow. "I'll get caught up. I will." He grasped at another straw. "Know any decent tutors?"_ _

__"As a matter of fact, yes, I do." She took out her little day runner and thumbed it open to her addresses. "This young man has a real gift with words. Bright, easy to work with, has _perfect_ attendance," she said pointedly, and Bucky cringed guiltily, "and he gets the material. Meet him. Chat him up. Take him to coffee. And make sure to speak up, he's a little hard of hearing."_ _

__"Okay," Bucky agreed. She scribbled down his number on a Post-It and handed it to him._ _

__"Anyway, I made some copies of your tests. I hope you're holding on to them anyway," she said expectantly._ _

__"Uh..." He usually pitched them as soon as he got them back or excavated his backpack of all the loose paper._ _

__"Right. I'll just give you these." She handed him the copies. "Look them over. Read the comments. Might help you study for the final when it comes around. Your thesis is due in two weeks, too. Colonial American story of your choice from the syllabus."_ _

__"Okay."_ _

__"Twenty pages." He winced. "Piece of cake!" she assured him, and this time, she gave him a real smile. "C'mon, it'll be fun!"_ _

__"We don't all like the same things?" he countered weakly._ _

__"Fair enough."_ _

__She handed him a copy of the quiz that he missed, and she proctored him for the twenty minutes that it took him to finish it. It was for cold material that he hadn't studied for two weeks, but he muddled through. Bucky gave it back and sat across from her while she graded it. She made a thoughtful "hmm" as she checked off each bubbled-in circle._ _

__She rose from her chair, and he stood dutifully. Dr. Munroe held out her hand and shook his. "Call Steve. Don't be shy. Tell me what would make this more manageable. Keep that head down and study. I expect a stellar thesis from you in two weeks."_ _

__"Yes, ma'am."_ _

__Perhaps he rushed off too quickly, tellingly, as he mulled the meeting over on his way back to the dorm. He heard the housekeeper's music in the hall as he passed the class, sighing. Talking to that guy after he caught him in the altogether had been less embarrassing than discussing his crappy grade._ _

Bucky stopped back by the library when Peggy's text pinged his phone. _I have those notes copied. Come and get 'em. Second floor, by the microfiche room._ He grinned. Good ol' Peggy...

__*_ _

__"Can't you just wave your magic wand and make me smart?" Bucky pleaded as Peggy handed him the copied notes, written in her slanty penmanship._ _

__"It's broken," she told him. "Believe me, darling, I'd be waving it all the time with my class load this semester. Taking poli sci and critical thinking the same semester that I have to finish my calculus requirement wasn't my best thought."_ _

__"At least you can write." And she had a near-perfect GPA, despite her complaints. "And you're technical. You can do something with 'technical.' Writing's not that hard. When it comes to literature, just read, read, and then read some more."_ _

__"Then we've got the thesis from hell."_ _

__"Once you get past the opening paragraph, it'll be smooth sailing."_ _

__"I'm just no good with words."_ _

__"Did she suggest a tutor?"_ _

__"Yeah. Here." He handed her the Post-It crushed in his pocket. She read it and smiled, mouth curling into a little cupid's bow._ _

__"Good. Perfect. He's adorable. Smart boy. Call him up. Do it now."_ _

__"He's that good?"_ _

__"Fantastic. He's Dr. Munroe's darling. His art history articles show up in the quarterly journal every issue. _That_ boy has a way with words." She shook her head and smiled. "On _paper_ ," she amended._ _

__"Whaddya mean?"_ _

__"He's shy. Tongue-tied. He's a bit of a mess in person, but he's really sweet." She swatted him with his packet of notes. "Call him!"_ _

__"Okay! Okay!"_ _

__*_ _

__Bucky waffled with the idea of a tutor for three days. The class certainly wasn’t getting any easier. Bucky managed to pass his next quiz, but the novella they were reading was making him fall asleep through it five pages in. Sam threw a pair of rolled-up socks at him when he found him face-down in his thick anthology at his desk._ _

__“Huh? Wha…?”_ _

__“You’re drooling. That’s pitiful.”_ _

__“Fuck off.”_ _

__“I’m making a Starbucks run. You want in?”_ _

__“Might as well.” He wasn’t making much progress. “This sucks.”_ _

__“Call that tutor. Might help.”_ _

__“I know, I know.”_ _

__Sam offered to bring him back his coffee, but Bucky decided to just go with him. He needed the walk to clear his head. His track practice wasn’t for another hour, and he needed all the time to study that he could get, but it was too tempting to waffle and waste time._ _

__“Peggy said that tutor was pretty good.”_ _

__“She told you I’m screwing up my class?”_ _

__“Not in so many words. And you’ve been telling me that, anyway, so,” Sam reminded him easily. “Give him a call. Send him a text.”_ _

__“I’ll get around to it.”_ _

__“You’ve got your phone, lazy ass!” Sam gave him a good-natured shove. “Text him! Send him an SOS.”_ _

Bucky huffed and took his phone out of his pocket and opened up a new message. _Hey. I got your number from Dr. Munroe. Wanted to know if you could tutor me. I’ll pay you if you don’t charge too much?_ He showed it to Sam. “Is that fine?”

__“Yup.” He hit ‘send’ and tucked his phone back into his pocket. Not even a minute passed before his phone pinged at him with a new text._ _

__“Oh. Wow.” Bucky pulled it back out and squinted at the screen._ _

___I wouldn’t mind, and I work pretty cheap. English lit, right?_ _ _

__“Yes,” Bucky murmured out loud as he typed. “How…much… per… hour?” Send._ _

_Ten. I can spare you a couple of hours per week, since I work and I’m carrying a full load this semester._ Bucky’s brows lifted. He was right; that was cheap.

__“Sounds good,” Bucky murmured, typing back. Sam smirked at him._ _

__“He’s gonna tutor you?”_ _

__“Looks like it.” Bucky smiled and nodded when the return message came back. He still wasn’t looking forward to working on his thesis and studying for his test, but it was good to just bite the bullet and make the time to talk to someone who knew what they were doing._ _

_What time’s good for you?_

__“You work,” Bucky muttered aloud spelled onscreen. “You…tell…me.”_ _

_Friday after dinner?_

Was this guy for real? Before Bucky could voice his disbelief, another waiting message bubble hovered and pulsed. Then, _I know, it sounds like I’ve got no life, but I have a second job. Friday is my only day off, and I have classes all morning until three. If that won’t work, then sorry, man._

__“Friday. Guy’s gotta be kidding.”_ _

__“Got that Theta mixer on Friday, too,” Sam reminded him. Bucky was pledging halfheartedly, and his GPA had to be solid if he wanted to get in. They didn’t take many freshmen, and he would be a legacy if he got in, since his dad was an alumni. But his grade couldn’t afford to suffer. If he missed a mixer to save his grade, what was the harm?_ _

__“Guess I’ll just have to miss it.”_ _

__*_ _

Steve hosed down the inside of the dishwashing carousel with the long-handled pressure sprayer, making a face at the stench of the steam mixed with grime and food scum. He scrubbed the vinyl curtains and rollers and put them back, using his gloved hands to remove the doors and spray those down, too. It was a dirty and disgusting job that paid horrendously little, but it kept Steve in ramen and Lucky Charms every month. The dish room was empty; he was shift leader that night, and most of his coworkers already headed out once the grill was cleaned and the handwashable pots and pans were stowed away. He hosed down the tray carousel next, grimacing at the chunks of leftover food that flew loose. _Gads, that’s gross…_

__“You’re still here?” Nat’s voice called out to him over the hiss of the hose. “What time do you leave again?”_ _

__“Six-fifteen.”_ _

__“Can you walk me back?”_ _

__“Sure,” he assured her. The campus had an escort system that they enforced to ensure students didn’t walk alone after dark. Steve often walked Nat back to her dorm after their shifts were over. He often joked that _she_ was protecting _him_ from thugs, since no one messed with Nat. All it took was watching her break a guy’s nose at an outdoor concert when he wouldn’t quit grabbing her butt, and she became Steve’s idol. They were similarly petite, and Nat had tight, firm curves. Unlike Steve, however, Nat took tae kwon do classes for her phys ed requirement and could throw grown men on the floor. Steve still felt better not letting her walk alone. It was what friends did._ _

__“I already finished the coffee urns, filled the dispensers, changed out the soda syrup downstairs, filled the cow, and put away the dishes,” she informed him. The “cow” was the milk dispenser in the front serving area._ _

__“I’ll meet you out back in five.” Steve wanted to scrub his own skin off, hating the feel of grime and sweat. He tipped his baseball cap back and scrabbled his fingers through his damp blond hair. He turned off the sprayer and the carousels, shutting down the noise. Steve turned off the radio in the corner and threw his disgustingly spattered navy blue apron into the barrel with the dirty dish towels. His boss, Nick, looked up from his inventory sheet and timecards as he walked past the office._ _

__“Heading out, Rogers?”_ _

__“Yup.” Nat grinned and waved at their cafeteria director, cracking her gum at him._ _

__“Keep this one out of trouble.”_ _

__“I will,” Steve promised._ _

__“I was talking to her.” Nick winked at Nat. “G’wan, now. Quit lollygagging.” Steve was indignant._ _

__“I see how it is,” he told him. “Always picking on the little guy!” he called over his shoulder as Nat yanked him along by the arm. She looped hers companionably through his as they walked outside. The sun was setting earlier mid-way through fall, and Steve shivered slightly at the chill in the air. “I’m whipped,” Steve complained. “And I’ve still got to work on my sketch series.”_ _

__“How’s that going?”_ _

__“I still need you to sit for me. Or just let me get a photo in decent light.”_ _

__“That’s fine. Take one tomorrow morning before my class.”_ _

__“How about tomorrow afternoon… oh, shit.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“I’ll meet you, it’s just… damn it. Here I am, thinking I have all this free time to sketch. I goofed. I scheduled a tutoring session for tomorrow night.”_ _

__“On a Friday?” she scoffed. “Seriously? Who even wants to be tutored on a Friday night?”_ _

__“It was the only time I could offer him. Obviously he’s pretty hard up for help,” Steve reasoned. “And I’m hard up for cash.”_ _

__“I can lend you-“_ _

__“No, you can’t.” His voice was quiet but firm._ _

__“Steve…”_ _

__“Nat. Don’t.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “I’ll get by. I’m getting by. Don’t worry about it.”_ _

__“You know I _do_ , you nerd,” she told him. “You’re gonna burn yourself out. And you’ll make yourself sick. Two jobs is too much.”_ _

__“Two jobs equals rent and bus fare. It even keeps the lights on for an hour or two a day, if I don’t push it.”_ _

__“You should live with me next fall.”_ _

__“You can’t desert Pepper. She’d never forgive me.” Natasha’s roomie insisted that they were going to get an apartment the following school year, but Natasha worried about Steve and wanted to reduce his burden. But he insisted he was okay with living alone. Natasha had visited him a handful of times at his apartment and pronounced the one-bedroom studio above the coffee shop downtown a “roach-infested shithole.” He corrected her gently, letting her know “It’s ant-infested. Don’t hurt their feelings.”_ _

__“We can always get a three-bedroom place. Like a townhouse.”_ _

__“Nat, I love you. Don’t get me wrong. But two girl roommates equals waaaaaaay too much estrogen and Tampax boxes in the cabinet.” She slugged him._ _

__“Be that way.”  
*_ _

__Friday found Steve distracted during most of his classes as he planned out how to tutor James Barnes. During his ethics class, he sent him one more message, _You're still showing up, right?__ _

He managed to type back, _I'm still in if you are_ before his professor caught him. Dr. Xavier was sharp as a tack and people joked that he had eyes in the back of his head. The bald, middle-aged professor didn't even look up from the diagram he was drawing on the whiteboard before he murmured, "Let's put the phone away, Mr. Rogers." Steve's cheeks flamed with embarrassment as he stowed it into his backpack. He dutifully returned to his notetaking and fretted about the upcoming meeting - he couldn't even call it a "study date," what if James hated him - and how to best help him with his writing. The butterflies in his stomach wouldn't calm down.

__The rest of his day included errands, like turning in his timecards, checking his mail - no, he didn't want to treat himself to some magazine subscriptions and enter the million dollar sweepstakes; Publisher's Clearinghouse, get a clue - bundling up his laundry into his rolling hamper, and going through his portfolio of finished sketches for his life drawing series. Thankfully, Nat was more on top of her end of the favor she was doing for him and grabbed him before his first class, dragging him out to the courtyard's rose garden for a quick couple of photos. She was his favorite subject, having helped him with the library's life-size pastel drawings hanging up in the reference section. Everyone recognized the tiny redhead in the cutout drawing, rendered in his painstaking hand._ _

__He face-timed her before dinner. She looked cool as a cucumber, casually fiddling with her mascara as she got ready to go out. "You need a night off," she murmured, making that funny face with her mouth open as she did her lower lashes._ _

__"I need cash. There's worse stuff I could be doing on a Friday night."_ _

__"There's better stuff, too. Not like you'd know, Rogers."_ _

__"Yeah, yeah..."_ _

__"You look nice," she admitted. "That beanie brings out your eyes."_ _

__"Thanks."_ _

__"Didn't feel like combing your hair, huh?"_ _

__"Jerk." He grinned._ _

__"How did you meet this guy?"_ _

__"I haven't. Dr. Munroe referred him to me."_ _

__"What's he like?"_ _

__"I don't even know, Tasha. We've just texted."_ _

__"Steve." She gave him her best _Are you shitting me_ look. "He could be some psycho."_ _

__"We're meeting at the library. It's well lit."_ _

__"I'd better not get a ransom note, Rogers."_ _

__"Relax. I'm helping him with his _writing_ ," he reminded her. "Ransom notes won't be his strong suit, anyway. Just watch out for my body parts in your mailbox."_ _

__"That's sick. I need to re-evaluate our friendship, Steve."_ _

__"I'll text you after I meet him."_ _

__"Pinkie promise?" Steve held up his pinkie solemnly. She looked slightly pacified._ _

__"Where are you headed, anyway?"_ _

__"Out with Clint." He watched her contemplate a tube of lip gloss before unscrewing the wand. Steve grinned at the smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth._ _

__"Don't you two kids get too wild. Be home by ten."_ _

__"Pot calling the kettle black, party animal," she retorted. "Listen, gotta go. Let me know how it went, 'kay?"_ _

__"Bye, Nat." She made little kissy faces at him before ringing off. Steve checked his reflection for a moment, taking in the beanie, plaid shirt and jeans, running his fingers through his bangs. It'd have to do. Then he scolded himself._ _

__"Who cares? It's not a date."_ _

__Again, the guy could end up hating him._ _

__*_ _

It hit him that he would have no way of knowing who he was even looking for. Steve took one more self-conscious look at himself in the glass door of the library’s front lobby. Same skinny, knobby limbs, same autumn-pale skin, since he burned like a lobster every summer. He adjusted his bifocals and jerked in surprise when he felt his phone vibrate. He looked down at it and grinned. _Might help if you knew who you were looking for._ It might, Steve agreed.

_It might,_ he typed.

_I’ll be the guy in the red hat and black glove._

__Glove? As in, one?_ _

That puzzled him, but Steve peered around the lobby. _I’m outside,_ his pupil informed him. _That might help, too._

Steve smirked, then typed _Not that eager, huh? I won’t bite._ Then he added, _much._ James typed back a smiley. Steve turned on his heel and looked around the perimeter of the library. He spied a red baseball cap and dark ponytail belonging to a guy slightly taller than medium height, slender, with nice shoulders - he turned around slowly, rubbing his nape with his gloved left hand, and Steve froze, heart in his throat.

__It was Naked Guy._ _

__“Bucky,” he supplied for himself, face turning beet red. “Oh, shit.” Their eyes met, Bucky’s pinning him, preceding the tightening of his lips. He licked them self-consciously, and Steve felt himself panicking with every step that he took toward him._ _

__“It’s… Steve, right?”_ _

__“Steve Rogers,” he blurted. “Yeah. Hi.” Then, “Again…”_ _

__“Shit… this is kinda a surprise,” Bucky told him. “Wow. So, you’re my tutor.” Steve’s mouth went dry. Words were failing him._ _

__“If… if you still want,” he stammered. “Um, it’s… if it’s too… too weird, we can-“_ _

__“Why would this be weird? Seriously?” Bucky huffed a laugh and looked away for a moment, then back at Steve. “You aren’t gonna make me listen to your music again, are you?”_ _

__“No,” Steve told him indignantly. “If you’re ready to work, we’ll work.” He straightened his glasses and stared him squarely in the face, not wanting his gaze to drift, no matter how tempting it was. Bucky was built, dressed in dark skinny jeans and a pair of slip-on vans. He had on a snug red North Face pullover that was unzipped at the throat. At least he matched, Steve thought in frustration. “Clock’s ticking. Did you bring your papers? And the book you need help with?” Bucky nodded, but his lips were still tight._ _

__“Lead on, MacDuff.” Steve chuckled._ _

__“At least you know your Shakespeare.”_ _

__“Naw, dude, that’s just something my mom says all the time.”_ _

__Steve sighed heavily. It was gonna be a long night._ _

__*_ _

__They found a secluded table past the reference section on second floor, and Bucky spread out his stuff. Steve asked him for his notes and book. “We’re doing this one in Frost’s class,” Steve mentioned._ _

__“I thought you were in Munroe’s section of comp,” Bucky accused._ _

__“No. I’m in her creative writing class. I’m thinking of taking her Shakespeare class next semester. Should be pretty good.”_ _

__“I’ll take your word for it, buddy.” It sounded boring as hell to Bucky, having only read as far as the first act of Julius Caesar in high school before buying the Cliffs notes. The stuffy, weird, rhyming verse made his mind wander. Steve looked over his notes and squinted at his shaky handwriting._ _

__“Geez. You’ve got chicken’s scratch.”_ _

__“I hardly write anything by hand anymore,” Bucky admitted. “I type all my papers now. And I text a lot.”_ _

__“Maybe you should get a tablet,” Steve mentioned._ _

__“It’s too tempting to wanna play on it instead of taking notes,” Bucky admitted._ _

__“Good point.”_ _

__“There’s just something about lit that just flies over my head,” Bucky told him. “I can read. If I think it’s entertaining, I absorb just enough to decide that I like with it, but I couldn’t go back and give you a report on it and tell you why you should read it.”_ _

“Not me. Dude, I _love_ reading. I’d pay rent to Barnes and Noble if I could.”

“I believe that, somehow.” He looked him over with little discretion, letting his eyes rove over his compact, skinny form, taking in the details like how big his eyes – still really, _really_ blue – looked behind those black-framed bifocals, how he had a few freckles sprinkled over his nose and the crowns of his cheeks, those long, slim fingers, the kind his mom said were good for playing the piano. He seemed to be swimming in his plaid buttondown, and his beanie gave his face a rakish quality. He was almost cute, in a nerdy way…

__“So. Hawthorne,” Steve began. Bucky groaned. “C’mon. He’s an easy read.”_ _

__“I hate Scarlet Letter. I HATE it.”_ _

__“Why? It’s like a soap opera. Scandal. A love child. A whole town gossiping and shunning a hot widow? That’s good stuff.”_ _

__“We’ve got different definitions of good, pal.”_ _

__But they moved forward. Steve went through Bucky’s notes with him and made suggestions of things to add, giving him page number references and going over passages that he didn’t understand in class. He stressed the basics, like the color symbolism, how Hester changed physically, practically blossoming when she was alone with Dimmesdale, then resumed her prim appearance in the presence of her daughter or anyone else._ _

__“Chillingsworth is a psycho,” Bucky remarked._ _

__“Guy almost got killed. Found his wife with somebody else’s baby while he was gone. He’s not just gonna roll over and take that,” Steve pointed out, shrugging._ _

__“I wouldn’t have been quiet if my old lady was cheating on me,” Bucky boasted. “None of that watching her on the scaffold shit.”_ _

__“Ever been cheated on?” Steve asked casually, before realizing that it had to sound weird._ _

__“Huh? Eh. Once. It wasn’t that big of a deal. We weren’t that tight.”_ _

__“What was her name?”_ _

__“His. Johnny.”_ _

__“Oh. Uh… okay.” Steve could feel his ears turn pink, and he was glad he still had on his beanie._ _

__“Why?” Bucky suddenly felt self-conscious. “Got a problem with that?”_ _

__“With you being cheated on?”_ _

__“With me having an ex-boyfriend.”_ _

__“No. No problem.” He held up his hands. “Doesn’t matter to me.” He wouldn’t explain why it gave him pause. Nor would he admit… that the word “ex-boyfriend” thrilled him. For myriad reasons._ _

__“Did coming out to meet me to study interfere with any other plans?” Steve inquired after a few moments of awkward silence and shuffling of papers._ _

__“Kind of. There was a mixer. I’m pledging Theta,” Bucky explained. “My dad’s alumni. That’d make me a legacy if I get in.”_ _

__“Guess you’d be all set, then. Frats aren’t my thing.”_ _

__“Why? You too cool to rush?” Bucky’s smile was skeptical._ _

__“I’m not good with following the crowd,” Steve offered. Or getting batshit-drunk several times a week. Or making a public spectacle of himself, even though the campus forbade hazing stunts, something most of the frats gleefully ignored. Steve didn’t feel like he needed to impress anyone, and he wouldn’t spend good money pledging a group of snobby guys._ _

__“Your fraternity brothers make good connections after you graduate. Looks good on a resume, too. You’ll have that affiliation for the rest of your life!”_ _

__“Kind of like hepatitis C.” Bucky snorted and threw a pen at him. Steve grinned._ _

__Steve spent a little longer helping Bucky tentatively build his thesis, helping him with his expository paragraph. Bucky felt a little less adrift with Steve explaining it, endlessly patient and personable. He talked with his hands a lot, and it was cool to watch him gesticulating with those long, graceful hands. But the thing he noticed now, after spending time with him, was how confident and relaxed he was talking about something he obviously loved._ _

__“I think I’m done, man. My brain’s a little fried.”_ _

__“Wore it out that fast, huh?” Bucky’s lips twisted. “Wimp.”_ _

__“I’m still planning to meet my friends,” Bucky admitted. He began packing his things up and checked his phone. Sure enough, there were three messages from Brock waiting for him, the first one demanding _Where da fuq r u?_ _ _

__“I’ll let you get back to it, then. Go. Do fratty things.” Steve made a dismissive gesture, but he was slightly disappointed._ _

__“I’m not gonna stay out that long,” he insisted. “I’ve gotta hit the gym tomorrow and take a run. I’ve got a meet on Monday.”_ _

__“Oh. You run?”_ _

__“Got in on a track scholarship.”_ _

__That explained why he was sickeningly fit. Steve was envious. He couldn’t even jog a slow quarter around the track without feeling like he was dying. _Thanks for nothing, Asthma.__ _

__“Text me if you want any more help,” Steve told him. “Have fun at your party. And your meet.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t call the meet ‘fun,’” Bucky murmured, but he was smirking. “Hey, let me pay you before I forget.” He dug in his wallet and pulled out a crisp twenty. Time had flown, and the tutoring session, admittedly, wasn’t painful. Steve tucked the money in his pocket before taking his beanie off to scrape his bangs back from his forehead where he’d begun to sweat._ _

__Bucky noticed the hearing aids and stared at them for a moment. Steve caught his glance and cleared his throat._ _

__“I didn’t have them turned up enough. I wasn’t paying attention when I was, uh, cleaning the bathroom that day.” His cheeks flushed, and he looked away. “Sorry.”_ _

__That was why he hadn’t heard Bucky yell that the shower was occupied, Bucky realized belatedly. And he had been a dick to him…_ _

__“Look, it’s okay, man. Easy mistake. And you were working. I was dragging my ass and hung over. So, yeah, my bad, too.” Bucky felt self-conscious again and absently rubbed his left arm. Steve’s eyes flitted down to the glove, then darted away._ _

__He remembered his arm, abbreviated, smooth and slightly scarred, ending just past his elbow. The sight of it had stunned him less than his nudity, certainly, but his eyes were hungry for a better look at it. And, since he was being honest with himself, Bucky was really easy on the eyes. He licked his lips and looked away before he realized that Bucky had tracked the gesture._ _

__“I was wondering… you introduced yourself as Bucky in class. But you called yourself James on my phone.”_ _

__“I was just meeting you. I self-introduce with my first name when I meet someone new.”_ _

__“I was pretty new when you called yourself Bucky before.”_ _

__“That was technically the second time I’d met you, so.” Bucky’s eyes crinkled. Steve shook his head._ _

__“Dork.”_ _

__“Dick.” Steve gathered up his pack and backed away from the table._ _

__“I’m gonna bail.”_ _

__“Yeah. Thanks, Steve.” He walked him downstairs. “I’ll see you around.” Steve bit back the words threatening to tumble forward and make a fool of him._ _

__“I’ll be around,” Steve called after him as they parted ways outside. He started walking in the direction of his apartment, but he turned and watched Bucky after a few paces, enjoying his loping stride and the silhouette of his body under the streetlamps. “Damn it, Steve,” he muttered under his breath._ _

__*_ _

__Bucky’s Asics pounded the gravelly, uneven terrain of the cross country course, weaving through the orange cones marking the trail. Two of the visiting campus’s team members were leading him by about ten feet, but he was just getting his second wind after the third mile. His muscles were hot, and he was sweating through his green school tank. His arm was exposed, only because he couldn’t stand how hot he got when he wore a long-sleeved tee under his team shirt, and people’s stares didn’t bother him as much when he competed, since he wasn’t the only person the crowd was watching._ _

__He gave his stride more kick, closing the gap between him and the leaders down from ten feet to five, then to three. They heard him panting and pounding the ground in their wake and sped up slightly, but Bucky knew they were flagging and running out of steam. He just had to push a little bit harder, and the race was his. Running took him to a different place. He was addicted to the rush and the wind in his face and hair, the burn of his muscles and lungs, of the endorphins surging through his system. And it helped to have a clear goal to focus on, reaching his finish, trying to beat his own times. And when Bucky raced, he didn’t feel any different from anyone else. It didn’t hurt that he was fast and consistent, and people paid less attention to his old injury. So did he._ _

__He heard Brock, North and Wade hooting, whistling and cheering from their place on the sidelines of the field as the runners made their way back from the course. “C’MON, BUCKY! KICK, MOTHERFUCKER! KICK! YOU CAN DO THAT SHIT!” Brock bellowed, clapping for him more as a gesture of impatience than applause. Bucky’s pants were full of spit and sounded ragged as they exploded from his mouth, but he had it… he had those two bastards… just a few more feet…_ _

He heard the click of the official’s timer as he crossed the white line painted in the grass as he brushed by the second leader, tying him. _Shit. Shit, shit._

__“Tie for second!” the official cried. Bucky’s coach nodded, but he didn’t look displeased. He clapped his hands for the rest of the competitors, urging them to finish. The tailing competitors were finishing for personal time, looking winded and resigned, ready to try harder tomorrow. Bucky stayed moving, cooling down, slowing to a limping walk. He made his way to the water cooler and grabbed a bottle while his friends caught up to him. All three of them were wearing fraternity colors and letters, and Brock gave him a hug that turned into a headlock while North and Wade slapped his back._ _

__“Nice job, lazy ass,” Brock teased. “Must’ve had rocks in your pockets.”_ _

__“You were moving like molasses out there, Barnes,” Wade added. North chortled._ _

__“They gave you a SCHOLARSHIP for that shit show?”_ _

__“Fuck off,” Bucky huffed. He chugged his water thirstily, draining half the bottle._ _

__“Missed you at the mixer,” Brock reminded him. “You forget?”_ _

__“Uh-uh. I had to work on a paper.”_ _

__“Grades matter,” Wade agreed. “We needed you at the beer pong table, though, man!”_ _

__“I’ll tell Dr. Munroe that’s where I was the next time I fuck myself on her mid-term.”_ _

__“Don’t fall behind, but don’t keep skipping events, either, Barnes. We can’t cut you pledges too much slack.” He mock-punched him in the ribs, and Bucky twisted his way out of his grip._ _

__“This is you cutting me slack?”_ _

__“Seriously, though.” Brock pulled him aside for a minute. “Don’t skip. We’ve all got to vote you in or out. We’re square, Barnes, but some of the other brothers aren’t sure if you’re committed.”_ _

__“I’m committed!” Bucky shot back. “But I have to pass comp. I don’t want to fuck up my GPA.”_ _

__“Okay,” Brock shrugged. “Okay. Let me know if you can’t cut it.”_ _

__“Okay, Brock!”_ _

__“There’s always next semester!” he called after it as Bucky jogged off toward the locker rooms, fuming. He scooped up his gym back from the sidelines and snatched up another water bottle, downing the rest of the first before chucking it into the trash can. He rounded the corner of the athletic building and heard his name called out in a deep, newly familiar bellow._ _

__“BUCKY!” He heard short-striding steps thudding after him, soon accompanied by panting. “BUCK! Wait up a sec!”_ _

__“Steve?” His lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “Hey. What’re you doing here?”_ _

__“You said… you… had a meet,” Steve gasped as he fell into step with Bucky, hands planted at his waist as he caught his breath. Bucky saw Brock, Wade and North watching him and Steve, but he ignored them._ _

__“You don’t run,” Bucky pointed out._ _

__“Hell… no,” Steve confirmed. “But… you looked… good out there. You hauled ass, Buck. Color me impressed!”_ _

__“You might need some of this, too.” Bucky beamed and offered him his unopened water bottle, but Steve shook his head._ _

__“You have it. I’m okay.” Bucky wasn’t convinced. Steve was still breathing pretty hard._ _

__“You sure?”_ _

__“Asthma acts up a little when I’m outside. Lot of mold in the air from the trees, during the fall.”_ _

__“And you ran after me?” He punched Steve in the arm and cracked open the cap. “Drink some, then. Dork.” Steve took it gratefully, swigging down a few gulps. He gave it back and walked Bucky to the locker room._ _

__“How far can you run?”_ _

__“Once in a while, I do half-marathons.”_ _

__“Holy shit! I do half a _block._ That’s just when I’m running for the bus.”_ _

__“You take the bus? You don’t have a car.”_ _

__“Uh-uh. Can’t afford the tags, insurance or gas for one. I sold the one I had before I started here. I just hoof it.”_ _

__“You live on campus?”_ _

__“No. Downtown. On Fifth and Graymalkin.”_ _

__“That’s a long haul,” Bucky argued. “You should have told me. I would’ve picked you up the other night.”_ _

__“You didn’t have to. I get by fine on foot.”_ _

__“Still…” Bucky rubbed his sweaty nape and pulled his hair out of the tangled elastic, scrubbing his hand through it. “Wouldn’t have been any trouble.”_ _

__“No problem.”_ _

__“It isn’t. It wouldn’t be. Next time,” he assured him. Steve’s stomach did a little dip. The thought of a next time filled him with excitement._ _

__“So, need any more help on that paper?”_ _

__“Yeah. Soon as you left me, and I had to work on it myself back at the dorm, my mind drew a complete blank. Got any time for me?”_ _

__“I work my cleaning shift tonight, and in the cafeteria tomorrow-“_ _

__“Wait. You work two jobs?” Bucky asked incredulously._ _

__“Yup. Three, if you count tutoring,” Steve shrugged._ _

__“When do you find the time to study?”_ _

__“When most people sleep,” he shrugged again. “I do what I have to do.”_ _

__They reached Bucky’s locker, and he spun his combination lock and chucked his bag on the bench. “That’s hard core. You’re full-time here?” Steve nodded. “You don’t get any aid?”_ _

__“I didn’t qualify for it last spring when I applied before. Ma made too much money, even though it was just her.”_ _

__“She doesn’t help you?” Steve’s face fell._ _

__“She can’t,” he murmured. “She’s not around, anymore.” Bucky paled._ _

__“Shit, Steve… I’m sor-“_ _

__“It’s okay.” Steve sagged to the bench and dangled his wrists between his legs where he leaned. “I let the bank forclose on the house. Wasn’t like I could afford it myself. I’m gonna reapply for aid next semester, since I’ll qualify on my own income this time.”_ _

__“The school can’t give you a hardship grant or anything?”_ _

__“I’m managing,” Steve insisted. His tone was slightly indignant. “Don’t worry about it.” Bucky nodded, but he wanted to protest Steve’s grueling routine. He was a great student, sharp as a tack, and he deserved not to struggle so hard to get by._ _

__Bucky reached up and pulled off his damp jersey. Steve swallowed roughly at the sight of his bare chest, and his arm didn’t escape his notice, either. Bucky caught his glance and looked away. “It was a car accident my junior year. Really bad one. Guy blew right through a three-way intersection and plowed right into me.”_ _

__“You wear a prosthetic, though?”_ _

__“Yeah. Most of the time. Easier not to when I run, though. It gets uncomfortable when I sweat. I’ve learned how to balance pretty well without it when I run. Doesn’t hurt my stride. Just had to adjust.” He didn’t mention the months of physical therapy, counseling, multiple revision surgeries, reactions to different painkillers, and all of his friends treating him differently and how resentful he’d felt. No sense laying it all out in front of Steve, who seemed like he meant well. But still…_ _

__He didn’t want his pity._ _

Steve took a different tack. He reached into his ear and pulled out the small appliance. “It took some getting used to when I got these. I was about five.” Bucky held out his palm, and Steve laid it there, trusting him to be careful with it. “I learned how to lip read pretty well. I didn’t really play any sports, because of these, my glasses and my asthma. Got picked last a lot in gym. Scratch that: I got picked last _every_ time.” Bucky handed him back his hearing aid and shrugged.

__“So now you can tutor a dumb jock like me.”_ _

__“Lucky me,” Steve deadpanned. Bucky grinned and gave his shin a little kick with his sneakered foot._ _

__“I’ve gotta shower.” He toed off his shoes and sauntered off. “No peeking, Rogers.”_ _

__Steve blushed up to his hairline._ _

__*_ _

__After Bucky got decent, he took Steve to a small pita stand outside the student union building and bought them both gyros. They walked along the quad and talked about Bucky’s project, planning out times to meet._ _

__“Fridays are my best days,” Steve told him. “And maybe Sunday, but that’s when I usually draw.”_ _

__“You draw?” Bucky licked the tatziki off his fingers. Steve nodded around a mouthful of falafel._ _

__“I’m an art major with a minor in creative writing.”_ _

__“Not planning to make any money after you graduate, huh?”_ _

__“Dick,” Steve muttered, kicking him. He was smirking, though. “Not if I’m not good at it, no.”_ _

__“Are you?”_ _

__“Working on it.”_ _

__“Can I see some of your stuff?”_ _

__“Just go to the art hall, on the third story. There’s some stuff hanging in the corridor, student work that’s already been graded. Some of it’s mine.” He took another hungry, grateful bite. For a skinny guy, he could really put it away, Bucky marveled. “I drew that full-size picture of Natasha in the library.” Bucky raised his brows and whistled, impressed._ _

__“Natasha Romanoff, right? Little redhead?”_ _

__“Don’t call her that,” Steve warned him. “Yeah. We’re bros.” Bucky snickered at that._ _

__“She’s pretty hot.”_ _

__“She’s pretty taken.”_ _

__“It figures.” But Steve was staring at him like he was trying to figure something out._ _

__“I like both,” Bucky explained casually. “I like girls. But sometimes, I like being with guys.” Steve didn’t seem phased. He just nodded and pushed his glasses up his nose, then took another bite of his gyro._ _

__“Whatever works.” Bucky ducked his face for a moment, suppressing a smile._ _

__*_ _

__They fell into a routine of meeting on Fridays after dinner as their schedules allowed, and Steve gradually coaxed several papers out of Bucky, helping him go through his study notes days before his chapter tests so he wasn’t just cramming for hours the night before. With Steve explaining it to him in his soft, deep rumble, sitting by his elbow and leaning in toward him, Bucky felt like he could manage the material and actually digest it. Bucky tried to limit those nights to one hour, but the time always flew by fast, too soon before he had to pay Steve and watch that skinny body dart off into the dark. He still refused rides from Bucky, not wanting him to use up his precious gas, and it frustrated him. He wanted to make things easier on him, somehow, but Steve said the money was enough._ _

__The urge to protect him was strong and insistent, constant. Bucky began bringing him coffee as the days grew colder, just to enjoy his grateful smile. He noticed him shivering one November night and unwound his own heavy scarf from his neck. Steve looked up, startled, as Bucky draped it around his. “You didn’t have to,” he muttered._ _

__“Don’t catch a draft,” he scolded. “You can’t afford to get sick.”_ _

__“Whatever, Ma,” Steve joked. Bucky smirked, then kicked him under the table._ _

__Once in a while, Steve would catch his meets, wisely bundled up in the borrowed scarf – it matched Steve’s eyes, but Bucky claimed he had plenty of other scarves - and he would wait for Bucky with a squeeze bottle of water or Power Ade. Once Bucky found out that Steve worked in the dish room of the cafeteria, he started taking his meals later so that they could chat at the end of his shifts. He also got to know Nat, teasing Steve that she looked better in the work apron and visor than he did, while Natasha preened and posed._ _

__Even if it was a boldfaced lie. Bucky liked how Steve looked in _everything.__ _

__*_ _

Dr. Munroe handed back their exams that Friday, and she gave Bucky a furtive smile as she laid his face down on his desk. Bucky felt his stomach flip for a moment, but he turned it over and his eyes widened at the large ninety percent scrawled in blue ink. _Nice work!_ was her note beneath the grade. Bucky glowed with pride. He sailed through the lecture with more interest than usual and even participated – slightly – when she called on him.

__He couldn’t wait to show Steve._ _

__*_ _

__“He didn’t make it in,” Natasha explained to him as she served him in line at the hot counter. “He called off today. That’s pretty rare.” Worry settled over Bucky, and his face was wreathed in concern._ _

__“Is he okay?”_ _

__“Nick said he sounded like hell,” Natasha confessed. She looked worried, too, as she dished up his plate with pasta. “You can text him,” she suggested._ _

__“Are you gonna see him soon?” he pressed._ _

__“I can’t talk. Gotta keep the line moving,” she told him apologetically. “Catch me in a half-hour.”_ _

__He ate with little enthusiasm, and he tried to study his notes, but it was futile. He’d gotten into such a habit of sitting with Steve, joking with him to see that sunny smile and evading the amused, knowing looks Natasha kept shooting him, flicking her eyes toward Steve. He slowly urged Steve into his circle of friends, no big stretch since he was already good friends with Peggy. Tim and Gabe made room for him at their table eagerly, and to Bucky’s horror, they all had similar taste in music. Bucky teased Steve that he needed to turn his hearing aids up so he’d know how offkey he was when he sang along to Drowning Pool while they were doing their laundry together._ _

__So he waited for Nat, who came out of the dish room once she’d hung up her damp apron. She fanned herself with her visor, her auburn ponytail lank with sweat, high pink spots of color breaking out on her cheeks. “He’s sick with the flu. I went ahead and called him a minute ago.”_ _

__“I texted him. He didn’t answer.”_ _

__“He didn’t want you to worry about it.”_ _

__“Not texting me back isn’t gonna worry me?” Bucky was exasperated. “What a dick! He’s sick in bed, and he’s afraid to tell me?”_ _

__“Yeah. He is. He gets sick a lot, Buck. It’s his asthma, but he’s anemic, too. He catches every bug that comes around, tries to push himself and work through it, and then just makes himself sicker.” That filled Bucky with dread._ _

__“He can’t get sick. He can’t afford it.”_ _

__“I’m bringing him some cold medicine later, because he ran out,” Natasha told him. “I’ll tell him you asked after him.”_ _

__“Fuck that. Uh-uh. I’m going with you.” And Bucky was going shopping._ _

__*_ _

__Natasha rode along reluctantly in the passenger seat of Bucky’s small, vapor green Volkswagen Bug, chewing her thumbnail. “He might be pissed that I brought you.”_ _

__“He’ll get over it.”_ _

__“Lock up your car when we get out. This isn’t a great neighborhood.” It was the understatement of the year. He parked outside Steve’s apartment building, which was a walk-up above a coffee shop with an unimpressive array of day-old pastries on the counter and a chipped sign out front. The block was lined with adult video stores, smoke shops, check cashing stores and a questionable looking meat market and liquor store that made Bucky itch just looking at it._ _

__They trudged up the steps, plastic shopping bags rustling, and Natasha reached for Bucky’s wrist. “Don’t make him feel self-conscious about his place. It’s a shithole, but it’s _his_ shithole. He works hard to keep it.”_ _

__“I’m not that much of a dick,” Bucky informed her curtly._ _

__“Good.” She knocked smartly on his door before keying the lock anyway. “Just letting him know that we’re here.”_ _

__“How do you rate a key?” Bucky asked, slightly put out._ _

__“Because I’m special.” The hinge creaked slightly as she let them in. “Steve! Sweetie, I have Bucky! He wanted to check on you!” They entered the hall, and Bucky locked it after them before he made himself at home. The interior was surprisingly dark with the blinds drawn; he noticed some of the slats were cracked and bent. Bucky flicked on the switch, and that was when he noticed the art work hanging on the walls._ _

__“Oh, my God,” he murmured. “He did all these?” There were several drawings, some in pencil, some in ink or pastels, framed and hanging with neat precision, each one more eye-catching than the last. Some of them were street-scapes, rows of buildings and businesses stacked on top of each other, places that Bucky recognized downtown; portraits of friends in candid poses; character concept sketches with detail weapons and armor. His work ran the gamut. Bucky’s mind boggled at his talent._ _

__“It’s his thing. Art’s his life,” Nat reminded him. “Steve?” she called again. She heard a low groan of protest from behind a closed door. Bucky set the bags down on Steve’s kitchen counter. There were a few dishes in the sink, but despite that, it was neat as a pin. Steve didn’t have much furniture. There was a dinette table with two chairs dressed with lumpy, battered seat cushions; a barstool with cracked black leather; a canvas club chair in the corner, a coffee table that looked like it was made from recycled wooden pallets – well-built, no doubt made by Steve himself – a halogen floor lamp with green plastic shades, and a small television on a Sauder DIY stand. It wasn’t much, but Bucky knew Steve wasn’t going to have an apartment full of furniture that he couldn’t move himself. Bucky hovered behind Nat when she knocked lightly on his bedroom door. “Bucky’s here with me. He wanted to see you,” she cooed. “Can I come in?”_ _

__“No,” Steve barked, and God, his voice, Bucky winced, it sounded like hell. It was thick and raspy with a discernible rattle. “I’m in bad shape, Nat.”_ _

__“I brought you medicine, butthead,” she scolded as she cracked the door open. “And Bucky was worried.”_ _

__“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky chimed in._ _

__“M’sorry,” Steve conceded. “I just woke up when Nat called. I’ve been knocked out all day.”_ _

__“You sound like you need a treatment,” Nat scolded. Despite Steve’s protests, she let herself into his room anyway and squatted down by his bed._ _

__Bucky’s mouth tightened at the sight of Steve huddled in bed, skin pale and waxy. He looked like he’d been sweating out a fever and he had dark circles under his large blue eyes, which were slightly glassy. “You look rough, bud,” Bucky accused as he followed Nat inside._ _

__“Nah. Gonna get right up and run a half-marathon and beat the pants off you,” Steve joked, but Bucky could hear the crackles in his chest and the hint of a wheeze._ _

__“God, Steve… you don’t sound good at all.”_ _

__“I’m making you some tea,” Natasha informed him briskly. “And it’s time for your medicine.”_ _

__“You mentioned a treatment?” Bucky asked._ _

__“Nebulizer,” Steve explained. “Most of the time, I just need it before bed when my allergies hit me.”_ _

__“He needs it three times a day when he gets like this. He had walking pneumonia last winter. Scared me to death,” Natasha called back from the kitchen. Bucky heard her filling a mug with water and setting it into the microwave. Bucky stooped down by the edge of Steve’s bed, a full-size mattress without a frame or boxspring, and he reached out to brush Steve’s hair back from his eyes. His forehead was hot and clammy._ _

__“Nat brought you some meds. There’s Motrin if you need it.” Steve looked equal parts grateful and guilty._ _

__“You guys didn’t have to do this.”_ _

__“Tell me that when you’re a brighter shade of gray,” Bucky challenged. He sighed. “You should have that treatment, now.”_ _

__“I’m not that bad-“ Steve’s words were interrupted by a spate of wet coughs and rattling phlegm._ _

__“God, that’s gross,” Bucky cringed. He rubbed Steve’s back, then gave it a few sound whacks, trying to knock the crap in his chest loose. Steve made a wounded face at him, and he went back to rubbing it instead. He was still rubbing it when Natasha came back in with a fragrant cup of green tea._ _

__“I hate that kind,” Steve whined._ _

__“I put lemon and honey in it. Just drink it, sickie.” She was merciless, Bucky noticed, but it was effective. Steve leaned up on his elbows and managed to take a couple of sips, blowing to cool it off. He breathed in its vapors as Natasha set up his nebulizer, squirting the medicine into the tiny cup, dropping in the defuser and screwing on the nozzled cap and mouthpiece. She screwed the end of the hose into the bottom of the cup, and it hit Bucky that she had to have done this for him pretty often. Bucky took the cup from him, and Steve collapsed back against the mound of pillows._ _

__“That’s not a good color on you, baby,” Natasha crooned. “Time to breathe.”_ _

__“Why? Choking to death on phlegm is all the rage these days.” But Natasha flicked the switch on the machine, and the little hose spit out a steady stream of cool mist._ _

__“Open up, Steve.” He wrapped his lips around the mouthpiece, and Natasha nodded at Bucky to help him sit up. He felt too light within Bucky’s embrace, and it scared him._ _

__“I can sit up by myself, Buck,” Steve said, speech garbled around the mouth piece._ _

__“Shut up and take your medicine, Rogers.” He kept him propped against him, never letting go. Natasha puttered around the kitchen, finding unloading cough medicine and soup cans from the bags and giving the boys a few minutes alone._ _

__“Today’s Friday,” Steve mumbled._ _

__“Keep breathing that stuff in,” Bucky grumbled back._ _

__“Don’t you have pledge stuff to do tonight?” It was after seven, just when they would normally meet for tutoring. Steve assumed that Bucky would be at the Theta house without any conflict._ _

__“Uh-uh.”_ _

__“Bucky,” Steve accused._ _

__“I don’t.”_ _

__“You paid all that money to rush,” Steve pointed out, taking the mouthpiece away so he could lecture him properly. “Don’t waste all the time and effort and –“_ _

__“Steve. Put that back in.” He nudged it back into his mouth, and Steve rolled his eyes at him in annoyance. “Wasting time is going to a mixer and wondering if my pledge brothers will get me drunk enough to draw dicks on my face with a Sharpie while I’m passed out.” Steve huffed a weak laugh through the hose. “Having to recite the Greek alphabet any time anyone asks me is a waste of time. Listening to Brock and everybody else talk shit is a waste of time. I’m kinda over it.”_ _

__Bucky rubbed his back soothingly and held him for the duration of the treatment, until the mist exhausted itself. Bucky turned off the nebulizer and took the cup out to Natasha to wash._ _

__“He could probably use a shower,” she reminded him. “He’s unsteady on his feet when he gets feverish like he is now.”_ _

__“He won’t want me in the bathroom with him,” Bucky argued. But when he went back to ask Steve if he wanted his dose of cough medicine, he walked in on Steve losing his balance where he stood and collapsing to the floor. “Damn it, Steve!” Bucky hissed. His eyes were glassy and only partially focused._ _

__“Room’s spinning,” he complained. His voice sounded clearer after the treatment, but he still looked awful. “M’dizzy.”_ _

__“Where were you going?”_ _

__“Shower,” Steve told him._ _

__“Let me help.”_ _

__“I can get there…”_ _

__“Not on those wobbly legs, you can’t.” Steve slung his arm around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky wrapped his around his waist – it was so damned tiny – and helped him into the tiny bathroom. He sat Steve down on the toilet lid while he ran his shower, testing the water temperature on his wrist. Steve stared up at him in exhaustion and wonder._ _

__“You always this much of a mother hen?”_ _

__“You’re welcome.”_ _

__“Dork.”_ _

__“Dick.” Bucky grinned at him. That water felt fine, not too hot, but slightly warmer than tepid. Steve began fumbling limply with his shirt, but Bucky helped him pull it the rest of the way off._ _

_Oh._

__Bucky knew he was skinny, even when he was fully dressed and bundled to the teeth, but the reality of him, bare, fair, so slim he could only be described as delicate, that skin so thin that Bucky could see the his graceful blue veins running down his arms and throat – it affected him sharply. He was so vulnerable, and his urge to reach for him protectively was so strong…_ _

__“Can you manage?” Steve leaned back and began to fumble with his pajama pants, then tried to stand when he wasn’t getting anywhere with the waistband ties. Bucky rushed forward and helped him stand. “Easy…”_ _

__“Just… help me in.”_ _

__“And let you slip? Hell, no!” He settled Steve back down and considered his next step. Bucky sighed as he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his sweater. Steve watched him in confusion, then it dawned on him._ _

__“Are you sure? You don’t have… to…”Bucky was dropping his clothes left and right, and Steve’s heart fluttered, or maybe that was just the albuterol talking. Bucky stripped down to his boxers, and Steve got a good look at Bucky’s prosthetic and the straps that crossed around his back to anchor it to his body. Bucky didn’t mind him staring. He reached up and undid the fastenings, then carefully laid the prosthetic on the bathroom vanity._ _

__“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen,” Bucky reminded him coyly. He reached for Steve, hoisting him up under his arms and jerking down the waist of his pants. Steve shimmied out of them, letting them drop to his feet and kicking them free. Bucky noticed he was commando, then jerked his eyes up to Steve’s face. His cheeks were already coloring slightly as Bucky steered them into the shower. Steve hissed at the water’s first contact with his heated skin, but Bucky held him up and leaned him back into the spray, letting the runnels of water course through his hair._ _

__“This is awkward,” Steve mumbled._ _

__“What? No, it’s not. I do this all the time.” Steve sighed as Bucky reached down for the soap, never letting go of him. Steve settled back against him while Bucky soaped his limbs, back and neck. His palms traced the contour of his spine, which had a pronounced C curve that Bucky didn’t notice before, and he could feel every vertebrae. He handled him like glass while Steve shifted against him, lifting his arms dutifully, one at a time, when Bucky wanted to wash under them._ _

__“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Steve said. Bucky smiled into his damp blond hair._ _

__“Gotta keep our track record,” Bucky told him simply. “And you were a little ripe, pal.”_ _

__“Jerk.” He continued to soap Steve’s back while he held him under the spray, and Steve melted against him. “You’re s’posed t’be nice to a guy when he’s sick.”_ _

__“Big baby,” Bucky accused._ _

__“You can’t go out in wet boxers.”_ _

__“I’ll figure something out.”_ _

__He cradled Steve under the spray, washing his hair, nearly lulling him to sleep with his slow caresses, never taking any liberties. By the time he had him redressed in fresh pajamas and bundled back into bed, Natasha had his soup ready for him. Her smile was furtive and smug when she glanced at Bucky._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Nothing.”_ _

__*  
It hit Bucky one night when he was getting ready for bed, listening to Sam ramble on about wanting to see a movie on Saturday. “I like him,” he muttered aloud._ _

__“What was that?”_ _

__“Steve. I like him,” he said numbly._ _

__“Well, no _shit._ ” Sam shook his head. “You’re the last one to know, Barnes. I’ve been picking out your china patterns for weeks now.”_ _

__“No,” Bucky waved him away. “Not… like that.”_ _

__“Then like what?”_ _

__“Just… I don’t know. It’s just… I like him.” He leaned back in his desk chair and plowed his hand through his hair. “I like him, Sam.”_ _

__“Ask him out.”_ _

__“Won’t it be weird?”_ _

“You already crossed ‘weird’ a while back when he got sick, and you had to jump into the shower with him. _Supposedly_ had to,” Sam accused brazenly, grinning at him. “Likely story, in my opinion, but I won’t judge.”

__“He was dizzy,” Bucky emphasized. “You would have done the same for me.”_ _

__“Nooooooooooooo… Not likely, Barnes. I would have handed you a washcloth and told you to have at it.” Bucky contemplated his essay, half-written with the cursor blinking at him impatiently from Sam’s laptop. “Ask him on a date. You spend every Friday night together, anyway. What’s one more?” Then he added, “And leave the books at home.”_ _

__*_ _

__“Steve’s having an art show,” Natasha told Bucky a couple of days later. “You should come.”_ _

__“He never mentioned it.”_ _

__“He’d be too embarrassed, but I know he’d love it if you came.”_ _

__“When?”_ _

__“Tomorrow, from seven to ten. Dress nice.” She topped his mound of spaghetti with an extra meatball and sent him on his way._ _

__He spent extra time on his hair, slicking it back into a neat bun and shining it up with a little product. Bucky slipped into the black dress slacks he only wore a handful of times per year when his mother wanted him to dress up for someone’s wedding or graduation, a turtleneck and a handsome navy zippered sweater. Sam smirked at him when he spritzed on some Old Spice body spray for good measure. “You’re so whipped, man.”_ _

__“Fuck off,” Bucky muttered as he grabbed his wallet and phone. “Don’t wait up.” But he smirked as he walked out the door, followed by Sam’s wolf whistle._ _

__He crossed the campus, shrugging off the chill in the air and feeling butterflies take wing in his stomach. He texted Nat to let her know that he was on his way. She texted him back a smirking emoticon and a bunch of little hearts. He texted her back a “ :p “ and walked faster toward the art gallery that Nat gave him the address to, a handful of blocks from the campus._ _

__The show was free, but a sign urged him to leave a small donation in the box to help fund the college’s art fellowship awards. Bucky dropped in a twenty and began to walk around the space, hearing his shoes thud against the hard wood floors. Classical music was playing softly in the background, and he still felt underdressed amongst the assembled guests. Bucky helped himself to a sugar cookie, cradling it in one of the absurdly small cocktail napkins as he walked and browsed. He had a hard time believing that he was looking at student work. There were expertly drawn life studies of models, both nude and dressed, hand studies, still-lifes, and negative space studies in charcoals and pastels. He admired the glazed sculptures and pottery propped on stands and platforms draped in velvet. He noticed a few familiar faces, even caught Dr. Frost and Dr. Munroe lounging nearby, leaning in toward each other and nursing goblets of wine. Dr. Munroe caught his eye and waved him over._ _

__“There’s my most improved student,” she greeted, gently touching his arm. “Did you come here to see Steve’s work?”_ _

__“Uh… yes.” He felt himself color, and Dr. Frost nodded, smiling._ _

__“Good. You’re in for a treat. Some of the best pieces in here are his.”_ _

__“You’re going to like one work in particular,” Dr. Munroe mentioned coyly. “Go check out that wing. There are some beautiful pen and ink drawings that could stand a look.”_ _

__“I highly recommend them,” Dr. Frost chimed in. “Have a good time, Bucky.”_ _

__“Thanks.” He wandered off, cheeks still flaming. Did everyone know how he felt about Steve?_ _

__He found Natasha and Clint nearby, and they were both dressed to the nines. “Wow, look at you!” she exclaimed. “You actually combed your hair!”_ _

__“You smell good,” Clint drawled, not to be outdone. “You took a _shower_ today.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Bucky told him in clipped tones, eyes searching the room. “Where’s Steve?”_ _

__“Fretting about one of his sculptures. It’s big. He’s just making sure they balance it right when they display it. He’ll be back in a minute. But while you’re waiting…” She let her voice trail off and took his arm. “Let’s go have a look-see at one of his goodies over here.”_ _

__“Dr. Munroe said the same…thing…” Words failed Bucky as he gazed at the work that she indicated._ _

__It was a twenty-four by thirty-six drawing of him. Steve captured him running at one of his meets. He’d nailed everything, from his hair whipping loose from his ponytail to the folds of his jersey, the dusting of hair on his calves where his socks ended. His expression was tight, focused, the effort to pour his last surge of speed into his finish straining across his face._ _

__His arm. He drew him the way he ran, his stump unfettered and bare, flexed at the elbow, with the telltale scars, perhaps indicated more subtly and obscured by the soft shading strokes of Steve’s pencils._ _

__Bucky forgot the cookie tucked in its napkin in his hand until he almost dropped it. His eyes smarted, the backs of them pricking as his mouth went dry. “Oh, God…”_ _

__“Bucky? You okay?”_ _

__“That’s me,” he murmured, stunned._ _

__“I know. Bucky… he’s worried. He worked hard on it-“_ _

__“I know he did,” he rasped, and his voice sounded thick. He turned and dropped the napkin and sweet into the trash, scrubbing his nape with his palm. He broke out in a cold sweat, emotions overcoming him. “I can see that. It’s…” He raised his hands and let them drop. “That’s me up there.”_ _

__“I know, right? It was like that for me when I saw the picture of myself in the library, it still feels weird looking at myself up there- Bucky, WAIT! Please, don’t go!” He heard Clint’s protests, too, but he couldn’t breathe, needed to work himself free from the crowd, but they seemed to be closing in on him. The classical music mingled with the clink of glasses and guest chatter, but it was all a cacophony beneath the rushing sound in his ears and the pounding of his heart. Bucky rushed out almost blindly, muttering sorry’s and excuse me’s, until he can into a pair of slender hands that caught him by the arms._ _

__“Bucky!” Steve hovered in front of him, looking up at him in surprise and unfettered delight, until his eyes scanned his face. His smile collapsed. “Buck? What’s the matter? Where are you going?”_ _

__“Steve… I… your drawing-“_ _

__“Oh. Shit… you don’t like it?” Bucky reared back, and Steve reluctantly let go of him. Unshed tears shone in Bucky’s eyes, throwing up a wall of ice between them._ _

__“You didn’t tell me… you were… drawing that,” Bucky forced out, trying and failing to steady his voice._ _

__“You hate it,” Steve said, nodding. His expression was bleak. “You hate _me_.”_ _

“No.” Bucky shook his head, but his eyes, God, his _eyes_ … they were so stormy and hurt. “But… you can’t just…” He threw up his hand – his flesh one – and let it drop again. “That’s _me_ up there, Steve… just… out there for everyone to-“ Steve’s lip quivered, and Bucky couldn’t stare too long into those eyes that were welling up behind his bifocals. “I have to go.”

__“Bucky! Bucky, PLEASE-“_ _

__Bucky rushed out into the parking lot and rummaged in his pockets for his keys. He found them and fumbled, missing the lock while his vision blurred. He dashed tears from his eyes and leaned against the door, resting his forehead against the top of the car. A choked sob escaped him. He didn’t look up at the sound of light footsteps on asphalt._ _

__“Buck,” Steve said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to hurt you.”_ _

__“Steve… you don’t get it…”_ _

__“I guess I don’t. And I fucked up.” Bucky heard the strain in his voice, it was so watery and ragged. “I should have asked you first. Oh, Bucky, I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hate me.”_ _

__“I just… Steve. I don’t know what to tell you.” Bucky was still bent over his car, the picture of despair and confusion. “Why did you do that?”_ _

__“Because, I just… I saw you running. You’re amazing, Bucky, and I loved watching you run. I love watching you compete, and you’re so fluid and smooth when you run. I love the movement of your whole body, how you become this different person. How nothing can stop you.” Steve was sniffling, and Bucky finally looked up to meet his eyes. “You’re so beautiful. All of you.” Bucky shook his head and turned away again._ _

__“Damn it, Steve. It’s not. I’m not, I’m-“_ _

__“You are!” Steve blurted out. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, Bucky! I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop _thinking_ about you… .dreaming about you. You’re always in my head, Bucky, and I had to draw you, I just had to get the vision on paper and make it real. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d _die_ before I would hurt you, Bucky. You have to believe that.”_ _

__“You just should have told me,” Bucky said quietly. “That was a shock. That was just… such a shock.” Bucky plowed his fingers through his hair, ruining its neatness. “It’s just _out there_ , and people are staring at it.”_ _

“People _love_ it, Bucky. They love that image of you.” Nat and Clint stood in his periphery, and Bucky sighed, shaking his head, but she wanted him to hear her out. “Go back and look at that drawing, and tell me Steve didn’t see beauty when he looked at you. Tell me that I didn’t see it, or Clint.” Clint nodded his agreement, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

__“It’s amazing work. Don’t take it like you’re taking it, man.”_ _

__“You don’t know how I’m taking it,” Bucky reminded him savagely. That was the last straw of the night, even though Steve’s eyes were pleading with him. His cheeks were tracked with tears, chilled by the cold night air._ _

__“I never meant to hurt you.”_ _

“But you _did_.” Bucky climbed into his car, and Steve could only step aside as Bucky backed out of his space and tore out of the lot. He banged his fist on the steering wheel and shouted curses into the night, feeling so betrayed. So lost.

__He took the sight of Steve’s heartbreak with him._ _

__Sam looked up in surprise at Bucky’s early arrival home, turning down his Marvin Gaye playlist and setting his book down. “What happened?”_ _

__“Bad night, Sam.” Bucky released a heavy sigh and kicked off his shoes. He slumped into his desk chair and scrubbed his face with his palm. “Just a bad night,” he repeated, before the tears fell again. Sam stood and hovered over him while he wept, hand closed around his shoulder, wisely deciding not to ask for details._ _

__*_ _

__Bucky avoided the dining hall for the next couple of days, needing some distance between him and Steve. Naturally, they skipped their tutoring session, or rather Bucky ignored Steve’s texted apology and his plea to see him, to talk to him. Bucky lived on energy bars and microwaved ramen so he wouldn’t even need to go to the cafeteria, even though his feet had worn a groove to Natasha’s counter. But he wouldn’t seek either of them out. It was still too raw._ _

__He wouldn’t meet Dr. Munroe’s eyes, either, and she skirted over him in class discussions, leaving him in peace. His next quiz suffered, and she pulled him aside to ask if everything was going okay, but his response was noncommittal._ _

__“Just a little off my game today, Professor.”_ _

__“Your report is due soon, Bucky. I hope you’re ready for it,” she warned calmly. “You seem a little distracted.”_ _

__“I’ll get it done,” he promised. Her blue eyes were concerned. She tugged thoughtfully on one of her white cornrows as she nodded_ _

__“I know you will. I have faith in you. Take care, Bucky.” Before he could leave, though, she called after him. “Have you seen Steve?”_ _

__“No.” The reply felt acid-tinged as it left his lips. “Why?”_ _

__“He wasn’t in my other section for creative writing today, and he didn’t come in for his usual cleaning shift last night. I worry about him.”_ _

__“I don’t know. I’ll… have to ask after him, then.” Concern bloomed in his chest, warring with betrayal._ _

__Damn it, now Bucky _was_ worried about him. “Bye, Professor.”_ _

__“Goodbye, Bucky.” She donned her reading glasses and was flipping through exams that needed grading before he even reached the stairs. He sprinted down them and into the quad, taking his phone from his pocket._ _

His fingers shook as he sent the text. _Where are you? We need to talk._

__*_ _

__Bucky walked up the stairs to Steve’s dingy apartment, still hating the “unwashed” feeling the poorly lit corridor gave him. He knocked on the door, and he heard Steve’s lackluster “Come in” through the wood. Bucky tried the knob, and it gave way with a couple of rough twists. Steve wasn’t in the front hall, and his stomach was knotted as he entered and sought him out. “Steve,” he pronounced stiffly._ _

__“Back here,” Steve said flatly. His voice was resigned. Bucky followed it to his bedroom, where Steve stood in the center of the room, waiting for him. His eyes looked swollen and tired behind his glasses, with smudges under them, and his skin was wan. He was gripping a long gray poster tube. “Here.”_ _

__“What is that?” Bucky asked, even though he knew._ _

__“You can take it. I took it down that night. The show’s still on, but my professor put up a different work in its place. Not one of mine,” he clarified. He sounded relieved about that._ _

__“It’s too bad. You had some good stuff up there.” His attempt at civility fell flat. Steve held the poster tube out stiffly._ _

__“Please take it, Bucky.” Bucky shook his head._ _

__“I really don’t want to.”_ _

__“Do you want me to destroy it? I will, if you want me to.” His expression was calm but pleading, and Bucky shook his head._ _

__“No… just, no. Please don’t do that.”_ _

__“I will if you want,” he insisted hollowly. “If it makes you unhappy, and I know it did, I can get rid of it.”_ _

__“It… it wasn’t that it made me unhappy. Not… not the drawing itself. Not for the reasons you think.” Bucky took the poster tube, not wanting to leave him hanging, and Steve just watched him sit on the edge of the mattress, awkward from its low vantage point, his long legs half bent and stretched in front of him as he opened it. He unrolled the drawing and gazed down at it, taking in the painstaking details in the light of day, up close and personal. He expelled a shuddering breath._ _

__“I can put it away…”_ _

__“Don’t. Not yet, please.” He unrolled it and tried to flatten it, but it wanted to retain its cylindrical crease and curve. Steve went to his desk and handed Bucky a small paperweight. “Thanks.” He anchored it down and flattened it, smoothing it carefully with his hands. His eyes pored over its pristine surface, absorbing every line and contour, minute details like the crinkles around his eyes, the hollows of his throat, a tiny birthmark he had on his good shoulder. He hadn’t missed anything, giving the drawing the kind of attention only managed by someone who couldn’t – wouldn’t – take his eyes off of his subject._ _

__How intently would Steve have to have watched him, taking him in so completely to have drawn this? How would his eyes have transmitted this vision of him to those slim, talented hands to render Bucky in every line, every shadow? Bucky heard the dim echo of his own panting breath and footsteps thudding over grass and gravel, occasionally feeling his skin slapped by an errant tree branch as he stared at the drawing, seeing his vision narrow down to a tunnel lined by orange marker cones, focused on his finish. Feeling equal to his competitors._ _

__Feeling whole._ _

__“You can give it back to your professor if you want, if you need it for your class portfolio,” Bucky told him quietly. He removed the weight and gently rolled it up, careful not to smudge it. He evened up the ends and slid it reverently into the tube, recapping it._ _

__“It’s already been graded,” Steve said, voice hoarse, and Bucky realized he’d been crying again. “I know it was shitty of me to make this.” Bucky shook his head, but Steve nodded. “I know it was, Bucky.”_ _

__“No, it wasn’t.”_ _

__“It hurt you. I hurt you.”_ _

__Bucky hated that he’d put that uncertainty in his eyes, that sad tremor in his voice. “Steve. Sit with me. Please.”_ _

__“It’s okay if you hate me-“_ _

__“No, it’s not! Sit with me, Steve. God, Steve… please don’t…” Steve grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He hugged himself against the pleading look on Bucky’s face, feeling he didn’t deserve it. Bucky reached up and tugged Steve’s wrist insistently. “Please, Steve. C’mere. Come down here with me. I need you to sit with me. Please.” His tone was coaxing, gentle, and Steve let out a shuddering breath. He dropped to his knees, and Bucky quickly gathered him against him, looping one long leg around him to hem him in. He held Steve’s slim frame against him, feeling Steve’s heart hammering through his back. Steve’s back heaved with silent sobs, and Bucky rocked him as he spoke soothingly. “I don’t hate you, because I could _never_ hate you, Steve Rogers. Ever.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”_ _

“That’s because you’re a dork. Steve, I was just… stunned, okay? I was overwhelmed. I don’t know what else to tell you. It was me. It looked just like me, and that speaks to the fact that you’re an amazing artist. _Amazing,_ Steve. I can feel myself running when I look at it, I can even smell my own sweat. That’s a gift. Being able to convey that on paper with those two hands of yours is true talent.” He felt Steve’s tears dampen his shirt and neck, and he felt Steve’s hands tighten their grip on him, clutching him desperately, and Bucky knew he couldn’t be angry at him anymore. “You do beautiful work. Steve, you have a beautiful spirit.” Steve shook his head. “Yes, you do.” Bucky sighed. “And you’ve been kind to me. I couldn’t write worth shit before you began helping me, and you never lost it with me or gave up on me. You made me feel good about myself, Steve.” He just kept rocking him and stroked that soft blond hair. “You did that.”

__“I wanted people… to see you… like I… see you,” Steve told him haltingly. “Not to say, ‘Hey everybody, look at his arm!’” He sniffled and shook his head, like he was appalled at the thought that his drawing had conveyed that. “I wanted everyone to see how beautiful I think you are, Bucky.” He let out another shuddering sigh. “All of you.”_ _

__They sat like that for a while, Steve once in a while repeating “never meant to hurt you” while Bucky just cradled him and dried his tears._ _

__“I’d like to keep it,” Bucky said into his hair._ _

__“Are you sure?”_ _

__“I want to show it to Sam. And no one’s ever taken the time to make something this nice for me before.” Steve’s arms grew impossibly tighter around Bucky. “You put so much of yourself into this, Steve. I could never hate it. I could never hate you. Never.” Steve felt the faint press of Bucky’s lips and he leaned back, mere centimeters between them, Bucky’s soft eyes staring into Steve’s reddened ones. He nodded._ _

__“Okay.” He caressed Bucky’s cheek, gently flattening his palm against it, and Bucky leaned into his touch. Steve tilted his face up and kissed his cheek reverently, closing his eyes as though he was treasuring him; when he drew back, Bucky’s eyes were dilated, and he stared down at Steve’s mouth. He made an inarticulate sound before he homed in on his lips, kissing him like a man who meant it, and who had waited far too long. Steve’s voice was a husky moan as Bucky’s mouth brushed over his tenderly, then with growing hunger._ _

__“I was so worried about you,” Bucky admitted between kisses. Steve clutched at him desperately, hands threading through his long, dark hair._ _

__“Me, too. You were so hurt.”_ _

__“So were you, baby.”_ _

__“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Steve sounded like he was about to start the water works again, but Bucky soothed him with more kisses, showering his face with them._ _

__“Neither did I. I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__“Okay.” With that, Bucky pulled Steve up onto his lap, and the discussion was over._ _

__*_ _

__Bucky and Steve maneuvered carefully, making short work of each other’s clothes, hands flying over buttons and zippers. Steve straddled Bucky, rocking against his unfettered hardness, drinking Bucky’s groans while Bucky kissed him senseless. Bucky gripped Steve’s hips, thrusting himself up against him, and Steve groaned so loud Bucky was afraid his neighbors heard. And those hands of Steve’s, those clever hands roamed over Bucky, freeing his hair from its confining elastic and combing through its soft sheaves, mapping out the contours of his body. His breath stuttered out of his when Bucky lightly traced his crease, teasing it, eyes asking Steve for permission._ _

__Steve fumbled for the bottle of Astroglide in the nightstand and struggled to open it. Steve wrested it away from him, easily snapping open the cap. Bucky’s eyes were dark with passion as Steve kissed him, pouring the slick over Bucky’s fingers for him. Steve arched into him at the feel of those digits stroking over his hole, slowly circling it, kneading the snug little muscle. Steve buried his face in Bucky’s neck as he began to finger him, taking his sweet time as Steve strained against him. Steve was leaking in anticipation, his cock drooling damp streaks between them, and Bucky was in no better shape, craving Steve, wanting him so badly. He felt so tight, so hot, squeezing around Bucky’s finger, then fingers as he readied him, and Steve was already making the darkest, most tempting sounds in his throat._ _

__“So sweet,” Bucky husked into his flesh. His mouth sucked marks along his neck and collarbones._ _

“You’re beautiful,” Steve mouthed against him, over again, his voice barely more than a breath. Bucky fumbled with his own hardened member, lining himself up with him, and Steve engulfed him in one hot, snug thrust. Pleasure mixed with pain for Steve as he accustomed himself to the burn and stretch, of the sensation of being filled. Of being _complete_. He slowly began to move, just rocking himself against Bucky, who was trying to process all of the sensations wrapped around him, that rasp of his voice in his ear, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He breathed in his scent and gripped the narrow hips, stroked the warm, smooth skin as he began to thrust up into Steve, eyes glazed with lust.

Steve’s thighs burned from his efforts; Bucky carefully flipped them, rolling Steve to his back, and he entered him again, driving the pace this time, watching Steve as he came undone beneath him. Steve clung to him, legs wrapped tightly around him as he rode him out, as Bucky pounded into his heat. Their panting breaths mingled with desperate cries, and Bucky genuinely _feared_ that Steve’s neighbors were getting a concert, at this rate, but Steve was kissing him, squeezing him so tight, pulling everything he had from him, and it was so good, it… was…so…

__His climax began in the base of his spine and erupted from him, filling Steve and flooding his insides with slick warmth. All coherent thought left him as the pleasure overtook him, eyes reflecting complete helplessness as he fell apart. His hips stuttered those last few, stiff jerks before Bucky collapsed, arms and legs limp as noodles._ _

__Steve’s room was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing and the musk of sex. Bucky eased himself down slightly, shifting some of his weight off of Steve and letting his member slip free; Steve flinched at the loss of him, sore but well-used. His skinny arms wound themselves around Bucky possessively and he felt Steve kissing his hair, stroking his fingers through it._ _

__“Beautiful,” Steve murmured. “I always want to see you look like that when you come. So beautiful, Bucky…” Belatedly, he felt Steve’s cock twitch between them, poking him in the belly._ _

__“You’re still… you didn’t-“_ _

__“I’m fine, don’t worry…” Bucky frowned slightly, shaking his head._ _

“Uh-uh.” He eased back, gently prying himself from Steve’s embrace, only to descend and lick a slow path down his body, backing up on his haunches as he did. Steve’s body stiffened and he let out a small mewl of need when Bucky lapped at his nipple. He arched up into it, wanting, craving more of his talented mouth. Steve watched that dark head moving farther south, and his legs spread limp and slack, opening to give him access. Steve huffed at the ticklish lap of his tongue trailing over his belly, dipping into the perfect recess of his navel, before Bucky nipped at the divots of his hips. Steve’s head tipped back into the pillows and his eyes shuttered as Bucky’s mouth engulfed him. _His mouth._ Hot. Satiny. Pulsing. Coddling him. Making him lose all rational thought. Bucky moaned around his flesh, telegraphing how good he tasted, and Steve blindly grabbed for him, fingers clutching Bucky’s hair, urging him to continue. Steve’s legs were stiff, his back arched as he fought not to thrust himself up into his mouth, but Bucky didn’t want him to hold back, wouldn’t let him escape it. Steve’s hips were pinned in place while Bucky moved over him, swallowing him down again and again. He felt Steve’s flesh stiffen before it pulsed and spurted into his mouth. Bucky moaned and grunted as he kept swallowing and lapping him up, making a choking noise as Steve’s hips shunted up, pushing himself all the way into the back of his throat. Steve made strained, abbreviated sounds, eyes wide, mouth slack and gleaming red. Bucky collapsed again, giving his slender thigh a brief kiss. They both lay there panting for a few seconds, and Steve weakly reached for him. Bucky managed the graceless crawl up the mattress to join him, and he wrapped himself around Steve, breathing in his scent.

Bucky heard his phone begin to buzz with text alerts, but he ignored them. _Friday nights were for Steve._

__*_ _

__Steve watched Bucky easily take first in the two-mile, grateful to be watching it from the bleachers around the indoor track. The cold weather didn’t stop Bucky from taking his runs outside when he practiced when the outdoor track was shoveled clear, but Steve cringed at the mere thought of him out there in his running tights when it was twenty degrees or lower out, his breath coming out in misty puffs._ _

Mind you, he _loved_ Bucky in his running tights, but that was beside the point. He just wanted him to stay _warm._

__Bucky and Steve found themselves another modest one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that was mostly students, still not much better than Steve’s old “shithole,” but he didn’t fear for Steve’s safety as much when he made it home before Bucky. They’d been together over a year, and Steve qualified for generous financial aid, managing to get a job this time in the college library instead. He still took shifts in the cafeteria for the sake of laundry money and for the free meal he would get each time he worked._ _

__Bucky decided not to pledge again when he didn’t get into Theta, but it wasn’t a big loss. He was too busy spending time with Steve, studying with him at the library, joining him at his art shows, taking him to concerts, and putting more miles on the comfortable queen-sized bed they bought together when they moved in. Bucky still talked shit about Steve’s music. Steve still walked in on Bucky when he was in the shower, but nowadays, Bucky could claim it was intentional…_ _

__Steve drew Bucky all the time now, using him as his model for different poses and as a reference for muscles groups and anatomy when he had illustration projects. Steve tutored less, now that his art professors were referring people to him for drawing and painting commissions that he had more time for. Bucky was sailing through the classes for his major, once he got his general writing requirement out of the way, but he still stopped and chatted with Dr. Munroe every time he saw her. If Steve’s name frequently came up in conversation, it was no surprise._ _

__“Your man’s fast, Steve,” Natasha bragged._ _

__“Not in bed,” he told her smugly. She punched him in the shoulder and grinned. Bucky was walking it off, felt them staring at him, and he waved before getting ready for his next race. Natasha, Sam and Clint frequently showed up to support Bucky, too. He felt more comfortable around all of them now in regard to his old injury, and just like he was, they were all crazy about Steve. Bucky was finished with frat parties, glad to have smaller get-togethers and movie dates instead where he and Steve were joined at the hip, holding hands, sharing those little glances and smiles between them._ _

__As Bucky took his mark for the relay, Steve smiled as he realized that he would never have to take his eyes off of Bucky again._ _


End file.
